SCRIBE Czar (Oke Christopher)

Visiting Poem to the POETIC HOOD

Walking away

He has always been a ‘good’ companion,

Everywhere I went, He went with me,

He controlled my thoughts and action,

He said to me, “No one like me”.

I believed him with all my heart,

He told me he was the best,

He drew all the diagrams and chart,

He showed me pictures, pages and the rest.

I told him that I won’t leave him,

I told him that he was the truth,

I promised that I won’t listen to any hymn,

I said we will be together like Naomi and Ruth.

Suddenly, in new moon,

Not too long after,

The real man came so soon,

And I fell in love with the latter.

The former cane out,

He shouted “NO!”,

He shouted and cried out,

He cried, ‘NO!’.

He said he won’t leave,

He got a knife and a rope,

He said I won’t live,

He got a white robe.

Suddenly, He will grip me,

I wanted to follow the new man,

But I was just too weak to be,

He kept me in a ban.

One day, I escaped,

I went to new man,

He took me and me, he shaped,

I finally left the old man.

Is it love or crush?,

I found myself thinking of the old man,

Was my decision a rush?,

At times, I compared him with new man.

At night, the old man came to me,

It was in a dream,

He reminded me of all that happened to me,

He asked me not to tell my man, the dream.

At last, I woke up from my slumber,

I saw my new man, he wasn’t sleeping,

He has been starring at me, while in my slumber,

He knew I had a dream while sleeping.

I told him the dream,

I told him the whole truth,

He listened, as I told him the dream,

Then, he told me the real truth.

He said, “You no longer belong to the man

Now you are mine

He can’t seek from you, a demand

You can’t dine with the swine”.

He told me, “You are redeemed!,

You are not part of him,

Get up and walk away at last”,

You are no longer part of him.

Now, I am walking away at last,

Who is “him”, you may Ask

He is my “past”

It is a new dawn; I’ve put off the mask.

Scribe Iya Sewa scripsit

The Scribes are BLAZING....

For the Survivors...

Electorate, election, Campaigns, re-run election,

Secret ballots, Electoral College are the terminologies,

Chairman, returning officer, presiding officer are the officials,

Ballot box, stamp, electoral papers, polling centres,

Are the equipments,

Presidency, gubernatorial, chairmanship is the portfolio.

This is a game, only those who stand the test will proceed,

Meetings, plans and strategies all to stand the test,

Campaigns, rallies, deprivation of family attention

All because they must survive

The survivors don’t think of quitting

Against all odds, hurdles and storms of life

Failed ninety-nine times, only to remain in steadfast,

Aspirants with different intellect, with different character

With different strategies and plan,

We are all running into a space for one candidate,

I sit and estimate the finances involved, only one man.

Under the unfriendly sun, beating hard on us,

Under the torrent rain, lashing us seriously,

All to be in the echelon of power, to paddle the boat forward

Materials contribution, resource contribution are needed

But for the survivors only,

As the cool breeze of the west indice blows by,

I remember that the aspirants are of different motives,

Some with good motives, been sincere, while some endowed

With pretence, and appear to be optimistic.

Electorates! Think of your NATION’S future,

Giving those who know next to nothing the leadership,

Will only cause havoc; the mediocre,

All they know is getting to the top to have a share

Of the national cake.

I lay on my back to think, on my grandpa’s sofa,

If the mediocre eventually becomes the survivors,

The strong wall which is still under construction will be brought down,

As the chords keeps the moons secret,

As the stars brighten the earth like the sun.

As the rain drops on the dead plant to give life,

Let the ship be captained by a competent sailor,

Let the aircraft be piloted by a pragmatic pilot,

Let the country be led by an indefatigable leader,

As the frogs gives their croaky sound,

It flashed on my mind that leaders and not rulers are needed.

Scribe GCFR scripsit

Poetic Hood is Born...

Fatal Glory

She used to be a queen in her dreams,

But had no option than to wake up to his screams,

She in her wildest nightmare was made jenny,

But then she had to succumb giving out many,

Always couldn’t withstand ‘Dracula’,

O tun ba de mo nu ‘Kula’,

She had to get used to ‘aluta’ of the spirit,

And on every wound, invited methylatedspirit.

Halleluiah, she got access to her pen-pal,

Got a pinch of happiness being his Val,

Shared with him her anxiety,

Got familiar with his generosity,

Made plans to revenge the death of her parent,

Wishing she could still obtain her patent,

With the help of her pen-pal and the no 1 profession,

Backed up by the versatile constitution,

Fighting so hard with McMonster Muna,

Never betrayed by the Val Obiekwe Muna,

Won the battle of survival,

After drinking from the ocean of revival,

At last still got to be the queen of her dreams,

And never woke up to his screams...

Chief Scribe Inspired Seed scripsit

ISOLATION

The loneliness I feel within,

Is like a burden,

Save me from this mystery,

And let it become History,

Deliver me from this stress,

So I can buttress,

You are my fortress,

And I am your mistress,

The hustle and bustle of life could seem frustrating,

While some could seem devastating

But at the end it could be worth celebrating.

Scribe Dunamis  scripsit

Heart Burn

Out of the dark commotion of my heart doth pain spew

And for relief do I pray on the church pew

...my sins and transgressions are all but few

Although my strength will I always renew

But out of my whole being will I love you

...through rain and dew...

Scribe Czar scrip sit...

                      

Nature Struggle

Why is all this difficulties approaching our sides?

Every moment, every second, every minute, every hour, every day,

We encounter one difficulties or the other

All citizens have planned to stop this deadly encounter,

This problem is just indeterminable,

Deadly encounter is decrementing our daily lives.

                                    

Meeting to alleviate this deadly encounter is just fleeting all time,

Due to our ignoble heart, we have to continue with oppressors.

Keep on trying in your voracious daily life,

One day your state of predicament will turn joyous.

Scribe Samtol scripsit

My Birth

On a Sunday Evening,

Months wagging in disbelief,

At my arrival,

Hours in the writing room,

Minutes in the theatre,

And I was out of that place,

Where different tubes and tubules,

Hung around another like branches,

All tied up to me,

Me, sweating profusely,

What on earth am I doing here?!

Trying to gain my freedom,

My sticky legs hit an opening,

I’m happy, it’s a passage

And out I come, forcing myself all the way

Free at last!

But still worse problems

All eyes on me, I’m angry

“Everyone close your eyes! I scream

They don’t hear me,

You all must be deaf!

What an intrusion on my privacy,

Yet they keep on laughing,

And everyone keep opening those white enamel-like squares

Though some are brown

Who are they anyway?

And what right have they over my...my...

Well my nudity

It’s all unfair and I’m angry; I frown

What the hell is wrong with everybody in here?

They all burst out laughing real hard

And murmuring things like ‘crying’, ‘oh baby’!

Oh my beautiful girl

Can you imagine?

I hissed and they, they started running around

“Get a napkin!” a man in white jacket calls out

Now I am certain that within these white walls,

Are people who are mentally derailing?

I fall asleep till the eighth day when I’m named

Scribe Nadine Green scripsit

The Phantom of Liberty...

With the oracle eye I peer into the picture

I see liberty of man in the picture

During men in a state of fixture

Into the alley of the vulture

Buried in a profound state of mind

The mance vision of freedom

In a self “Hamletiung” blind

Like an anciet tandoor

Go a way, you phantom of liberty

You heartlessly put in jail; Dedan kimathi

The beast devours us without sympathy

Turning our children into a non-entity

We stand; out of his cruel state

To retrieve the key of heaven’s gate

Into the world of real fate

Holding on with a hopeful heart: Not too late

Scribe Olayhemie scripsit

                                          WHO CAN FIND THE VIRTUOUS ONE?

Who can find the virtuous one?

The one whose beauty is incomparable,

Who believes there is no insurmountable barrier?

Growing with an unstoppable designation for mildness,

Moving with a dependable consignation for uniqueness,

She, who desired the epitome of integrity.

She puts all her mind and body with gladness;

Fighting with zeal the gloomy haunts of sadness

She, who sings

and the morning stars blings,

Riding and hiding in the crest of the divine,

Her majesty, sets the oceans on its boundaries,

Nature has endowed her with many empowerment

By the power of the best deer and gazelle

She promised to stand for something;

So as to fall for nothing,

A frenzied babbling personality: She lacks

She keeps quiet: For her voice to be heard clearly.

You can call her name in the touch of greatness.

Her thoughts are filled with beautiful imagination,

Who dares, look down on her?

The sweet aroma of decency;

Sends; sharp arrows to the lousy heart,

Denying all forms of atrocities,

Who can find the virtuous one?

Scribe Integrity scripsit